Quidditch practice
by Benedoodle Cabbagepatch
Summary: Lily Evans visits James during one of his rounds on the Quidditch field.


"I don't know why you insist on beating yourself up like that," Lily Evans muses as she watches her boyfriend walk towards her, as she is leaning up against the wall of the locker room of the Quidditch pitch. She has been standing there for what couldn't have been more than 10 minutes (She is certain it wasn't over that, for she would've never had the patience to endure watching James fly round on that bloody broom of his for any longer).

James, however, is a different case - Merlin knows, when he first gets in the air, he loses all track of time, and so Lily has more often than she fancied, found him passed out on the couch of the Head's common room, after a training session that had most certainly been longer than good was. (It's the same now, she suspect; he would have gone on, on that broom for at least an hour longer, hadn't she come, even though he's drenched in sweat and his breathing is heavy).

"We've got an upcoming match with Ravenclaw, Lil," James explains in a tone that clearly states, that he thinks this to be a reasonable excuse. Lily doesn't, of course; after seven years of knowing Quidditch, she still doesn't quite understand the enthusiasm and importance, that her boyfriend, (and the rest of the wizarding world, it seems), puts into this sport.

To her, it's much like the Muggle sport, football - not the game, mind you, but the way it's treated. Harold Evans, her father, is quite fond of the sport, and often has some of his mates over to watch a game - he tried playing it himself once, but that ended with a broken ankle, a black eye and a very disgruntled, old married couple, so now he just settles with watching it in the telly.

"I know that," she says as he finally reaches her, and now she can literally see the small drops of sweat on his forehead, his completely worn out Quidditch suit which, she decides, has seen better days - and definitely cleaner ones. "But don't you think, perhaps you need to slow down?"

James's eyebrows creases together, and it's clear that he doesn't understand what his girlfriend is proposing. "Slow down?" he repeats - _slowly_, as though he's decided to use Lily's suggestion on his vocal chords, rather than on his practice. "Lily, you can't _slow down _in Quidditch - It's about tactic, quick thinking, being faster than the other team, or they'll score a goal, catch the Snitch."

Lily can't help but laugh at his obvious misconception of her idea. The thought of practicing less, is a thought so foreign to James, it doesn't even occur to him when it's straight out suggested to his face. And really, Lily thinks, she should've known.

"That's not what I meant," she says, and he manages to look even more confused at this. "Don't you think, that you should tone the Quidditch practice a notch down?" James opens his mouth to protest, but she doesn't let him because she already knows what's coming ('_Lily, there's only two weeks!' 'I'm the Captain, I can't let my team down by being out of practice' 'Heard the Ravenclaws has got a few new strategies up their sleeve, I have to be prepared for anything!'), _and she needs to explain this further before he starts rambling about the possible risks and are they strong enough in defensive and offensive and whatnot.

"No, just listen, would you? No one else is practicing this hard." He looks as if he's going to say something again, but she quickly covers his mouth with her whole hand, shaking her head. "You're wearing yourself thin," she continues. "I hardly ever see you, besides from in between classes." This may have not been entirely true right now, but right then, Lily doesn't give a shite. Sometimes you need to exaggerate for people to get your point. "I just think, perhaps you should take a break. Only practice when you've got a practice with the whole team-" Merlin knows this is often enough, anyway. James doesn't take Quidditch lightly, and he doesn't allow his team to do so either. "-okay?"

James doesn't say something for a bit, taking her words into consideration. He knows that of course she's right somewhere, he really shouldn't be giving himself such a hard time, but his love and adoration of the sport makes a valid point, too, he reckons, and it's those two arguments that keeps him quiet for the next minute or so.

Then, hesitantly, as if he still hasn't quite made up his mind yet, he raises one hand to run through his dark locks of hair, his eyes fixing on hers again.

"So what you're saying, is..." he begins, a sly grin forming lazily across his lips. "You miss your dazzling boyfriend an awful bunch and you're trying to sabotage his practice to be with him."

Lily lets out an exasperated sigh, though she can't help but smile too. _Of course_ she misses him, but that's not quite what she wants for him to focus on. "_James_."

"One might get the idea, that you're jealous, Evans." James tilts her chin up with the end of his finger, and she rolls her eyes at his statement (even though there probably is a bit of truth to it).

"I'm not jealous of a _sport_-" but she's cut off and she doesn't complain because it's by his lips, and by God, she's missed the soft touch of them. They're warm and salty, probably from the sweat, but Lily can't bring herself to care as she allows him to part her lips with his.

She's being pressed up against the wall of the locker room, and even though she should be freezing her ears off (It is ruddy January and the weather is colder than ever), she's not, because his hot body is pinned against hers. She has let one hand trail up, along his arm, over his shoulder, neck, cheek, until it finally reaches its destination, burying itself in his bloody mess of a hair.

And then he pulls back, slightly, his forehead resting against hers, and she tries to catch his lips again but to no avail. His face is flushed, as his hers and he's grinning at her.

"Sounds an awful lot like you're jealous to me," he says, his voice low.

She laughs and socks him in the arm with the hand that isn't still buried in his hair, and he laughs with her, and then they're standing there, laughing with each other in a tangled mess of bodies (her foot is halfway up his ankle now, and he has wrapped his arm around her waist) and right then, (though they'll scoff at the thought later, thinking they were silly and pretentious) yes, right then, they both reckon they know what happiness truly is.


End file.
